In the Arms of Love
by smacky30
Summary: The year is 1820 and Emily Prentiss is forced to marry David Rossi in order to save her father's estate from financial ruin. How can she marry a man she barely knows? What about love?  Romance?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not Mine.

A/N: Written for the Help Japan auction at fandomaid on LJ. The delightful Mingsmommy bid on me and gave ma a prompt of 'circa 19th century, Rossi is wealthy but untitled and Emily's family is titled but have lost most of their wealth and are burdened with a headstrong daughter. Bodice ripper marriage of convenience.' I want to say a special thank you to both wojelah and losingntrnslatn for their support and beta skills. They rock!

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"You, sir, are a cad!" Emily Prentiss, eyes spitting fire and cheeks flaming, turned on her heel and stormed from the drawing room, David Rossi's derisive laughter following her.

If her parents thought she was going to marry that arrogant man they were very, very wrong. Gathering her skirt in her hands, she ran up the stairs. Breathless, she flew through the door of her cousin Jennifer's suite and slammed the door.

Afternoon sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting the fact that the hardwood floor, while clean, was scuffed and the thick carpet in the center of the room was threadbare in spots. The heavy velvet drapes framing the windows were faded. The overall affect was one of a beauty that hadn't aged well.

"Ahhhhhhh! That man is insufferable!" Planting her hands on her slender hips, she heaved out a harsh breath. "Seriously, JJ, I can't possibly marry him."

Setting her pen into the inkwell, JJ, her blue eyes dark with sympathy, turned from the desk and gave Emily a sad smile. "I don't think you're going to have any choice, Em."

"There's always a choice." Emily began to pace. Long purposeful strides carried her from one side of the room to another. "I could be a governess or…or…or _something_." Stopping, she stomped her foot. "I could move into London and work for the Metropolitan Police."

"Emily!" JJ's shocked exclamation almost made Emily smile. "You wouldn't!"

Waving a hand dismissively, she shook her head. "Of course not. But anything would be better than having to live with _Mr._ Rossi."

Grinning wickedly, JJ said, "He's quite handsome."

"As handsome as your Aaron?" Emily shot back, eyes dancing with merriment.

Aaron Hotchner was JJ's fiancé. Tall, dark and intense, he was very much JJ's opposite. But the pair seemed well suited, and Emily had no doubt he would provide well for her cousin. He was currently in London, completing the required twenty-four sessions at Hall of the Inn that would allow him to become a barrister. The pair had plans to marry during the summer of the coming year.

A blush lit JJ's cheeks and she quickly shook her head. "Of course not. Aaron is…," she sighed dreamily. "Aaron is the most handsome man I've ever seen."

Rolling her eyes, Emily dropped onto the settee. Sometimes she wished she could be like her cousin: small and blonde and desperately in love with a man who was perfect for her. Not that JJ was some milquetoast. She was strong in the way all good women were. She had a knack for getting people to do things her way and yet convince them it was their idea all along. Emily had never learned to use her feminine wiles. She was much too headstrong, at least that's what her father, Lord Edward, always said when she defied him.

"It must be nice to be allowed to decide who you want to marry, or if you even want to marry." Her fingers plucked idly at her skirt, the soft cotton against her skin soothing her frayed nerves. "You aren't required to marry an old man in order to save the family estate."

"No." Something in JJ's voice had Emily lifting her head. "I'm merely the poor relation who has overstayed her welcome."

Realizing her gaffe, Emily leapt to her feet and quickly crossed the room. Dropping to her knees in front of her cousin, she took JJ's hands in hers. "Oh no," she cried. "That isn't what I meant. Not at all. You _know_ how much I love you."

When JJ was only eight years old, her parents had died of pneumonia. As the only child of Lady Elizabeth's younger brother, and with nowhere else to go, JJ came to live with Emily's family. Having grown up together, the young women were more like sisters than cousins. Now, ten years later, they were both about to embark on a new stage in their lives, one as the wife of a man who loved her, and one as the wife of a man who was, in essence, buying her.

"I know." JJ squeezed Emily's hands. "And I know how upset you are."

Sinking down until she was sitting on the floor at JJ's feet, Emily looked up at her cousin. "I shouldn't take it out on you. I'm sorry. You know sometimes I speak without thinking."

Before JJ could reply, the sound of male voices drifted up through the open windows.

"Help me up!" Emily hissed.

Standing, JJ tugged her to her feet. Emily hurried to the window and peered out. Down in the drive, Mr. Rossi's carriage was waiting for him, his driver standing still as a statue beside it. The voices increased in volume as her father and Mr. Rossi appeared from under the cover of the portico. Emily stared down at them, straining to hear what was being said.

"Look at him," she motioned JJ over.

JJ peered out the window. Below them Mr. Rossi's black hair gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight. His deep blue coat stretched across broad shoulders, and his white pants highlighted long legs. A spill of lace at his throat and wrists was snowy against his tanned skin.

Grinning devilishly, JJ said, "He's quite the dandy."

"What?" Emily choked out. "He's so…so…_old_."

"Oh, he is not!" JJ gave an inelegant snort. "He's not so much older than Aaron."

"He is," she insisted. "He has to be at least thirty."

As they watched, the man settled his top hat on his head, and after shaking her father's hand, turned to climb into his carriage. With his foot on the single step, he turned and looked up at the window where they stood. Then, with a rakish grin tilting his full mouth up, he raised a hand in mock salute.

Leaping back from the window, Emily growled in frustration at his seemingly irrepressible insolence while JJ dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Why are you laughing?" Emily narrowed her eyes at her cousin.

Holding her stomach, JJ managed to gasp out, "Because I believe you may have met your match in Mr. Rossi."

A knock on the door saved JJ from Emily's ire. Instead, she turned and snapped. "Come in!"

The door opened to reveal Penelope, the housekeeper's daughter, with a tea tray balanced precariously against her ample hip.

"Lady Emily, Miss Jennifer," Penelope bobbed a curtsey as she entered the room. Plump, with sparkling brown eyes and full lips, she was quick with a smile and possessed a wicked sense of humor. Having grown up in Lord Edward's house, she was more a friend to Emily and JJ than a servant.

Hurrying across the room, china cups clinking madly against their saucers, Penelope stooped to set the tray on a table. "So," she glanced through her lashes at Emily. "What did you think of your gentleman caller? Because I thought his driver, Morgan, was quite a tasty morsel."

"I'm sure he is no gentleman." Emily retorted. When Penelope shot a look at JJ, Emily threw up her hands. "It is 1820, in case the two of you failed to notice. I shouldn't be forced to marry a man I only met today." Once again, she began to pace, anger fueling her steps and her words. "I shouldn't be forced to marry any man. I am a person, not cattle."

Reaching the fireplace, she spun, skirt swirling around her slim ankles. "I cannot believe my own father is willing to _sell_ me. What happened to paternal love?"

She turned again at the arched entrance to the bedchamber and stopped her in her tracks. Clearing her throat, Emily said, "Mother?"

Standing in the doorway, Elizabeth Prentiss raised a thin eyebrow and glared haughtily at the three girls. Tilting her head in Penelope's directions, in a voice dripping with ice, she said, "You are dismissed."

Blushing, soft blonde curls falling along her cheeks, mop cap slightly askew, the maid hurried toward the door. She barely stopped as she curtsied before Elizabeth. "Thank you, Lady Prentiss," she mumbled as she left the room.

Shaking her head in obvious disgust Elizabeth let her gaze rake over the cousins. "How many times do I have to tell the two of you to stop associating with that girl? She is a servant, not your peer."

Met with silence, she continued, "Emily, your father and I would like to speak with you privately. He is waiting for us in his study."

Emily drew in a deep breath and gave JJ a desperate look. For all her talk, for all her ideas about running away, Emily was loyal to her family. She knew the livelihood of all the people living at Devonfield was now her responsibility. And she would never let them down.

Bowing her head, clasping her hands docilely in front of her, she replied, "Yes, Mother." If her tone wasn't as meek as her posture, none of them bothered to acknowledge it.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Emily followed her mother along the corridor. To her left, doors led to the bed chambers that lined the front of the house. To her right, windows looked out on the garden and the stables beyond. Once again, she was struck by the beauty of Devonfield. Emerald green grass and meandering paths led from the back of the house out to the stable and paddock. Beyond that, her father's land rolled away for as far as the eye could see.

Once, Lord Prentiss had been one of the wealthiest men in all of England. But times changed and brought with them a steady decline in the family's riches. Now Emily was being forced to marry a man she didn't know in order to save land that, based simply on the capriciousness of fate, would never be hers.

When they entered the study Lord Edward was standing in front of a window. His hands were clasped behind him and he was staring out at the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon, seemingly lost in thought. Emily took a moment to study him. He was an imposing man, tall and broad with heavily muscled shoulders and a thick shock of dark hair shot through with gray; more gray than had been there even a few months earlier.

"Edward?" Elizabeth's voice broke the silence. "You wanted to speak with Emily."

His sigh was deep, a long exhalation that spoke of things weighing heavily upon his mind. For the first time, Emily realized the precariousness of her position.

"Emily," her father sounded tired. "Your behavior this afternoon was inappropriate." He turned then, pinning her in place with his brilliant blue gaze. "Mr. Rossi is a very suitable match."

Not quite sure what she had been expecting, Emily knew this wasn't it. Still, she felt the anger returning. Riding a wave of righteous indignation, she said, "He is not suitable. He's not even titled."

"If he were titled, you would find something else wrong." Lady Elizabeth snapped. "You have found fault with every suitor you've ever had. You are quickly approaching the age where no man will be interested at all."

Shame joined the anger boiling in Emily's chest. Turning to face her mother, she countered, "I am only twenty-two. That is still young enough to attract a husband."

"You are one of the oldest at court. How do you expect to compete with girls…"

"Elizabeth!" Lord Edward's sharp tone interrupted his wife. "Leave us," he commanded. When Lady Elizabeth opened her mouth to argue, he practically roared, "Now!"

Her lips snapped together and formed a hard, flat line, her nostrils flared and her eyes blazed. With a sharp harrumph of displeasure, she turned and left the room. Emily was glad to see her go. It seemed her mother never missed an opportunity to point out that Emily was on the verge of being an old maid, and she was in no mood to listen to that speech again.

Relieved, Emily was ready to plead her case. However, that was not to be. Raising a hand, Lord Edward motioned her forward. "Come here, child."

Trepidation making her steps slow, Emily crossed the room to where her father still stood by the window. When they were side by side, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and asked, "What do you see out there?"

Being on the ground level, the study didn't afford the view she'd had upstairs. However, she could picture it in her mind; the rolling hills dotted with cattle, the manicured shrubs, her father's favorite gelding galloping in the paddock. Past the stables were hundreds of acres, some wooded, some open, and they were filled with deer and grouse and pheasant; more than enough to keep Lord Edward's family well fed for years to come. She knew that just to her right, along the side of the main house, was the cook's vegetable garden, where, depending on the time of day, the groom's son, Spencer, could be found pulling weeds or reading a book (ones she loaned to him in secret from her father's library).

Swallowing past a sudden lump in her throat, Emily murmured, "Home. I see…home."

"Ah, Emily," Edward hugged her against his side. "Sometimes, you are too much like me. If you were more like your mother, I think things would've gone differently."

She wasn't sure what he meant but before she could ask, he continued. "You see, dear girl, most of this is my fault. I indulged you, because I could see the love for the land in you, the love for the people who live and work here.

"Now, everything you see is in danger. And I have no choice in what I must ask of you." Releasing her, he moved across the room to a rich cherry wood buffet with marble inlays. He picked up a cut crystal decanter and poured a glass of port.

Emily watched him, her heart breaking over the choice she must make. In order to save the land she loved, she must set aside her feelings. It was a huge sacrifice, one she didn't want to make. To marry a man simply for his money went against everything she believed in. But, with no male sibling, the responsibility fell on her shoulders.

Quietly, her hands plucking worriedly at the fabric of her gown, she asked, "What about love?"

Her father smiled, his eyes gazing upon her fondly. "You are such a contradiction, my girl. So strong, and yet, so soft." He sipped from the glass clasped between his big hands. "Love does not always make the best match. Oftentimes, compatibility is more important."

"What could I possibly have in common with that man?"

Lord Edward shook his head. "He's a good man, Emily. Honorable and hard working." He drained his glass and set it aside. "Once you get to know him, I'm sure you'll become quite fond of him."

It had never been her goal to be fond of the man she married. She wanted to be in love; glorious, wonderful, heart-pounding love. She wanted to feel about her future husband the way JJ felt about Aaron. She never wanted to look at her mate the way her parents looked at each other. But this was about more than her and her childish dreams. This was about duty.

Resigned, Emily gave her father a tight smile. "When?"

"Christmas."

Shock ran through her. She had thought she might have more time to get used to the idea. She wanted to protest, to plead for a little more time. But time wouldn't really change things. With her heart breaking, she nodded. "If I must."

XXXXXXXXXXX

The past few months had been a whirlwind of preparations. While most brides were given ample time to gather their trousseau, Emily had been rushed by the tight timeline set by her father. There was a hurried trip to London where she procured several new dresses for day and evening, including her wedding gown.

It was a frothy confection of muted gold silk overlaid with ivory organza. The fabric shimmered in the light of the candles and lamps set about the bedroom. Bronze lace edged the deep plunge of the square neckline and the cap sleeves. A brown velvet ribbon highlighted the Empire waist and bronze organza roses dotted the bottom of the skirt. Emily had to admit that the color made her pale skin glow and the brown brought out her eyes. She felt beautiful, just as a bride should on her wedding day.

The ceremony had been simple, the two of them exchanging vows in subdued voices. Afterward, the guests danced and dined and drank exuberantly, none of them taking the time to ascertain the mood of the bride. Even at this late hour, Emily could still hear the music and laughter continuing in the ballroom. It had been years since Devonfield was filled with people and laughter, and it saddened her that it was for this occasion.

A frown marring her brow, her thoughts running in a myriad of different directions, Emily obediently bent her knees and raised her arms so that Penelope could work the dress over her head. With it gone she shivered in the coolness of the room. Looking up, she caught her reflection in the wavy surface of the cheval glass. Objectively, she noticed how tiny the corset made her waist appear, how her hips looked rounder and fuller, and the way her breasts seemed to swell above the lace trim. Silk pantaloons skimmed her legs and ended just below her calves, leaving slender well-turned ankles exposed. She studied her reflection and idly wondered if Mr. Rossi would approve of the way she looked.

Not that she cared what he thought, she told herself sternly. Being courted by him hadn't changed her opinion of his character. He was coarse and more than a little arrogant. But she quickly discovered, underneath his penchant for fancy clothes and those ridiculous high-heeled shoes, a keen mind and a sharp wit. Despite those things, he was not, nor would he ever be, the kind of man she would want to marry. So, why then, would she possibly be concerned about being found pleasing to the eye by David Rossi?

Emily shook her head in an attempt to clear it. She was nervous. That had to be the reason her thoughts were so scattered. After all, she was now a married woman, with all the things that implied. She might have retained her innocence, but she was far from naïve. She had spent time amongst her peers. She had heard the gossip, the whispers and giggles. She had friends who were married. She knew what happened between a man and woman in the privacy of their bed chamber. She knew what Mr. Rossi would expect of her, and the idea both titillated and repelled her.

Groaning quietly when Penelope loosened the laces on her corset, Emily drew her first deep breath in hours.

"Is everything okay, pumpkin?" Penelope deftly dropped a nightgown over Emily's head then slipped the corset down over narrow hips.

Emily ran her hand along her sides, wincing as her fingers skimmed the indentations left by the restricting garment. She gave a quiet snort and shook her head. "In a few minutes my _husband_, a man I barely know and don't really like, is going to come into my bedroom and demand what is rightfully his." Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed back the lump in her throat. "Tonight, I am expected to give myself to a man I find tolerable on a good day and repugnant on his worst. So, no, everything is not okay."

Penelope's eyes were filled with worry. "Oh, sweetness, I am so sorry." She wrapped her arms around Emily and squeezed. "I wish there was something I could do."

Gently, Emily disentangled herself from Penelope's embrace. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you." She pressed her fingers against her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. "Maybe you and JJ can help me escape."

"I would help you do anything, my pet." Standing up just a little straighter, putting on her most serious face, Penelope said, "Just say the word, and I will go find JJ. We'll get you out of here somehow."

Emily gave a watery giggle and surprised herself by throwing her arms around her friend. "I'm so glad you're going with me. I don't know what I'd do if I had to leave both you and JJ behind."

"We're your friends." Penelope sniffled. "We'll always be there for you." With one last squeeze, she stepped back and swiped at her eyes. "Now, let's get your hair brushed out, so I can get out of here."

Nerves twisting her stomach into a knot, Emily shrugged into the dressing gown Penelope held out for her and sat down at the vanity. Penelope began removing the pins from Emily's hair, her fingers slipping through the curls with ease.

"So," she chirped. "I'm meeting Morgan, Mr. Rossi's driver, that's his name you know. He's waiting for me down in the kitchen. We're going to have a bite of dinner, now that my work is done. Maybe we'll take a stroll in the moonlight. You know how romantic moonlight is. And he's so handsome. Big and strong and…"

Emily smiled as Penelope rattled on about Mr. Rossi's groom. She had to admit, the man was handsome; so exotic with his caramel skin and brilliant smile. It seemed that Penelope had developed quite a fondness for him. Sighing, Emily allowed the words to swirl around her while she concentrated on the soothing stroke of the brush through her hair. The feel of it had always helped to clear her mind. But tonight was different.

A sharp rap on the door interrupted Penelope's ramblings and made Emily jump. Without waiting for an invitation, Lady Elizabeth swept into the room. "Leave us," she commanded Penelope.

Bending forward to place the brush on the polished mahogany vanity, Penelope whispered, "Good luck." Then, with a brief curtsey in Elizabeth's direction, she left, closing the door behind her.

"Mother." Emily picked up the brush and ran it over her hair, watching warily in the mirror as Elizabeth crossed the room. "I'm almost ready."

Elizabeth placed her hands on Emily's shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. "You made a beautiful bride, dear."

Wariness became worry and her arm stilled, brush in mid-stroke. Emily couldn't remember the last time her mother had complimented her without following it up with a barb. She supposed it had always been that way. When she was a child, Emily tried very hard to please Elizabeth. Then, as she grew older, she found herself going out of her way to anger the woman. None of it seemed to make any difference in the way she was treated. Maybe, she often told herself, it was because Elizabeth had wanted so badly to give Edward a son. Whatever the reason, Emily sometimes believed her mother didn't like her, much less love her. But none of that stopped her from wanting to be loved by the woman who bore her.

Annoyed with herself and the dangerous softening of her heart, Emily murmured a thank you. Her mother turned away, clearing her throat, smoothing her hands along her skirt. Placing the brush on the vanity, Emily turned on the stool until she was facing Elizabeth.

"Emily," Elizabeth began then stopped to clear her throat. "Emily, tonight is your wedding night, and there are some things I need to tell you."

If she weren't so shocked Emily is sure she would laugh. Her mother, who had never bothered to discuss anything even remotely personal with her, wanted to explain what Mr. Rossi – David, she needed to learn to call him David – would expect from her on their wedding night. Biting her lip, Emily simply nodded.

"I know you are older than most brides, but you are still a child in some ways." Elizabeth moved to stand in front of the fireplace, holding her hands out to warm them. "A man, a _husband_, has certain needs. There are things…things you may find distasteful, that he will ask of you. As his wife, you must submit to him in these matters."

Emily couldn't decide if she should laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement, or cry at the turn her life had taken. Never, in her wildest dreams, would she have imagined the situation she found herself in. If she were honest, she would admit that she felt her heart breaking just a little at the thought of doing nothing more than submitting because it was required of her. That was no way to spend a life, no way to spend _her_ life.

"I'll do whatever I have to do." Emily swallowed against the sick feeling in her stomach. "Don't worry."

Elizabeth ran a hand over her eyes. "Why can't you ever take what I say at face value? Why must you always look for some hidden meaning?"

Biting back the most obvious retort, Emily rose and tugged the sash of her robe a little tighter. As much as it went against everything she stood for, everything she was feeling at that moment, she crossed the room and took her mother's hands in hers. "I'm sorry. I'm just…nervous."

Emily watched as Elizabeth wrestled with her reply. Finally, after several moments of tense silence, she visibly relaxed. "That's only natural." With an awkwardness that said more about their relationship than any of their many battles, Elizabeth hugged Emily. Stepping back, she said, "If you are ready, I'll let Mr. Rossi know."

Drawing in a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Emily nodded. "I'm ready."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The door to the hall opened and the candle flames danced madly at the disturbance. Despite the warmth of the fire at her back, Emily shivered and hugged herself against the chill coming in from the hallway. She wished desperately for a tiny glass of port to warm her, to relax her, to make this night easier to accept. But there wouldn't be any port, nor any reprieve. Mr. Rossi was here to claim what was rightfully his.

Closing the door behind him with a quiet click, he gave her a long appraising look. She could feel his eyes on her, his gaze sliding over her body like a physical touch. Determined not to let him intimidate her, Emily straightened her spine, dropped her arms to her sides and lifted her chin, even as a knowing smile tipped up the corners of his full mouth.

"Your mother said you were ready for me, Emily." He moved across the room until he was just a few feet from her. "Are you? Ready?"

His voice was low and silky, a tone she had never heard before. That, coupled with the gleam in his eyes, convinced her she was missing something in his simple question. Schooling her features into a mask of blank acceptance, she nodded. "Of course."

"Good." He reached up and tugged at the snowy lace of his cravat. "Then let's dispense with the pleasantries."

"You'll forgive me if I say I find nothing about this pleasant." Emily fought against the panic rising in her chest.

"Well, if we are both lucky, that will change." His grin widened as he shrugged out of his brown velvet waistcoat and draped it carefully over the back of a chair.

Emily was mesmerized as he loosened his cuffs and began to unbutton his shirt. The man obviously had no idea of what was and was not proper, since he seemed intent on disrobing right in front of her.

"There's a screen there, if you'd like some privacy." She gestured toward the far corner of the room where the four-panel, hand-carved mahogany screen stood. "There is even a place to hang up your clothes."

"Emily," his tone mocked her. "We are about to be as close as two people can be. Does it matter if I undress in front of you?"

Barely resisting the urge to scream at his lack of couth, Emily clenched her fists at her sides and blew out a harsh breath. "I might be your _property_, but I am still a lady. You will do well to remember that."

"Is that so?" Amusement sparkled in his dark eyes, and his smile widened, his teeth flashing white against the tan of his skin.

Anger surged through her. He was making fun of her, and the mere thought of it made her blood boil. Tossing her head back, she shot what should have been lethal daggers from her eyes. "Must you behave like an ass?"

Throwing back his head, he let out a hearty laugh. "There's the woman I remember. That docile act was beginning to drive me crazy." He shrugged out of his shirt and began folding it. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you're angry?"

He was standing before her now, completely unselfconscious, in his undershirt, and Emily couldn't help but notice how the thin material clung to his broad chest and sturdy shoulders. It was becoming apparent to her that his foppish clothes hid a trim, strong body. Suddenly, she realized she was staring and snatched her gaze away. But her cheeks still flamed in embarrassment when she heard his quiet chuckle.

"I don't think you are as immune to me as you would have me believe." He sat down and began to unlace his shoes.

Humiliation coursed through her. How could the man be so egotistical and not explode from it? Could he possibly believe she would welcome him into her bed? "What you think has no basis in reality."

Placing his shoes neatly beside the chair, Mr. Rossi stood and closed the short distance between them. Even without the added height from his shoes, Emily had to look up to meet his eyes. "Look, Emily, I'm not the kind of man who is going to force a woman, despite what you may think." He lifted his hand and ran a finger along her cheek. "I've never had to, and I don't intend to start now."

She flinched under his touch, and his hand dropped to his side. "Don't worry. I will do what you ask of me. No force will be needed."

Mr. Rossi shook his head, and his once mocking smile seemed subdued, maybe even a little sad. "Ah, Emily, you misread me. I only want one thing from you tonight. And it's not what you think."

"What?" The word squeaked out, and she paused to run her tongue over lips gone suddenly dry. "What do you want?"

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she was sure he could see her body trembling from the force of it. But the fear was receding. Something in his eyes told her she had nothing to be afraid of, at least not with this man.

"A kiss." His voice was once again low and silky, but without the mockery from before. "Just a kiss."

This time, when he ran a finger over her cheek, she didn't flinch. She was captivated by his voice and the heat in his eyes, by the roughness of his skin and the gentleness of his touch.

"Have you ever kissed a man, Emily?" He was staring at her mouth, and she felt her lips parting, opening for him. "Not those boys who courted you, but a man?"

She hadn't, she realized. She had allowed Duke and Duchess Strauss' son to kiss her once, just to satisfy her curiosity. But his fumbling hands and too wet lips had more than repulsed her, and she'd never had the desire to experience that again. Now, standing there with Mr. Rossi, she wanted to be kissed. By him.

Taking her silence as his answer, he said, "I didn't think so." He cupped her cheeks with both hands, ghosting his thumb along her lower lip. "Relax," he murmured. "I won't hurt you."

Her lip tingled where he had touched it, and Emily felt the pulse hammering in her throat. She wondered vaguely if he could feel it too. Licking her lips, she watched as his eyes followed the path of her tongue. There was a slight hitch in his breathing, and she felt the tremble in his hands. And something, something so completely female, began to unfurl inside her. Suddenly she wanted this kiss; she wanted to know what it meant to be kissed by a man. And not just any man. She wanted this man, this man that she was bound to in the eyes of God and of the law, to kiss her.

Emily watched him come closer and closer. She watched until his features began to blur then her eyes drifted closed. Then he was kissing her; a gentle press of his mouth to hers, a soft whisper against her lips, with his hands cupping her cheeks and his mustache tickling her nose. And it was nothing like she thought it would be. It was warm and easy and…right. Horrified at the turn her thoughts had taken, Emily stiffened under his touch.

Pulling back, Mr. Rossi let his hands fall away from her, and simply stood watching her. Then a slow grin slid over his face. "Oh, Emily," he whispered. "I have so much to teach you."

Gathering her wits, putting the taste and feel of his lips out of her mind, Emily gave a snort of disbelief. "I have no desire to learn anything from you."

He shook his head, his smile only growing wider. Turning away, he began to unfasten his pants. "Why don't you get in bed? I'll douse the lights and join you."

Panic returning, Emily tugged her robe a little tighter. "I thought you said…"

"I did. And I stand by my word." He glanced over his shoulder. "I'm not going to ravish you, Emily. Get in bed."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This was written for Mingsmommy who bid on me in the LJ Fandomaid auction to help Japan. Her prompt was 'circa 19th century - David Rossi is wealthy but untitled. The Prentiss family is titled but have lost much of their wealth and are burdened with a headstrong daughter. Bodice buster marriage of convenience.'

I want to give a shout out to Mingsmommy and Losingntrnslatn for putting up with me and doing my beta work. They are the bestest ever!

**Valentine's Day,** and Emily had been married for just over six weeks. Those weeks had passed in a whirlwind of activity; teas and luncheons, plays and operas, and, of course, balls. Living in London was proving to be far more entertaining than she had ever imagined, but she missed her family terribly. She missed the quiet country mornings with the sun rising over the trees, painting the sky with pinks and oranges. She missed the hours spent in the gardens, reading or sketching. She missed JJ and Spencer and Cook and her father. Sometimes, when it was late at night and she couldn't sleep, she even missed her mother.

Mr. Rossi's home, while impressive, was lonely. Oh, the carpets were lush and the drapes made of rich fabrics. The windows were so clean they were practically invisible. Fireplaces added warmth, making even the formal parlor cozy and inviting. But there wasn't enough laughter. It was as if the house were quietly waiting for something just out of reach. A sense of hushed expectancy surrounded Emily as she moved through the silent rooms.

The clock in the study chimed four times, signaling it was time for tea. With a quiet sigh, she tucked away the needlepoint she was working on and rose from her seat by the window. Soon Mr. Rossi would arrive, they would sit down and he would tell her about his day as the owner of London's largest newspaper.

As if on cue, the slamming of the front door signaled his arrival. His voice boomed through the downstairs rooms. "Emily? I'm home."

The smile that tipped up her mouth wasn't as forced as it had been six weeks earlier. In fact, if she paid attention to the butterflies in her stomach, she would realize she was actually happy to see him.

"That's what spending too much time alone will do," she mumbled as she made her way to the foyer. "As well as making one talk to oneself."

Mr. Rossi was standing just inside the front door, shrugging out of his topcoat. When he had passed it to Morgan, who turned out to be much more than a driver, he crossed the marble floor, his heels ringing against the stone. Even Emily had to admit the deep green waistcoat and black wool breeches suited him, although she tried to keep the admiration for his appearance out of her eyes.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rossi." His grin was only slightly mocking, his brown eyes gleaming with good humor. "How was your day?"

It was the same every day. He called her Mrs. Rossi and asked about her day. Oddly, the routine of it was soothing. Emily never thought she needed or wanted routine in her life. When she was living in the country all she wished for was a little excitement. Now, the very idea of the predictable made her feel safe.

Emily shook her head and fought against returning his smile. "Lady Emily," she corrected , without heat. "And my day was fine."

Stepping closer, Mr. Rossi rested his hands at her waist. His body barely brushed against hers, and she held herself rigid to prevent any unnecessary contact. Staring down at her, he murmured, "Kiss me, Emily."

Again, it was the same thing he had said every day since they arrived at the London house. He never asked for more than a kiss. Never. But he wanted her to kiss him anytime he asked. Oh, he would not force her. She knew, because in the beginning there were a handful of times she had refused. Now, she can't remember why she told him no. There was no reason, really. It was more to retain some semblance of control over her own destiny than to rebel against him. That he seemed to understand and to accept her desire for control both irritated and intrigued her.

Anticipation fluttering through her, she raised her hands to his shoulders, leaned forward and fitted her mouth to his. He tasted of pipe smoke, both bitter and sweet. He tasted familiar. Even as his hands tightened on her waist, even as his lips parted against hers, she wondered when finding comfort in their daily routine had become her truth.

With a quiet grunt of what sounded like approval, Mr. Rossi flicked his tongue along her bottom lip. He had done that more and more often over the past couple of weeks. At first, Emily had recoiled. The very idea of his tongue inside her mouth disgusted her. But, with a patience that surprised her, he persisted. Gently, he coaxed until Emily not only allowed the kiss, she found herself participating.

She can remember vividly the first time his tongue swept into her mouth and slipped over hers. Surprised at the heat and roughness of it, what she had thought would be revolting suddenly became the center of her world.

Standing there in the foyer, she willingly parted her lips, willingly allowed him to deepen the kiss. His hands on her waist pulled her closer, and she went without hesitation. Then her body was pressed against his, her breasts flattened against his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, her hands brushing through the silky strands of his hair. And she ached; her heart and her breasts and between her legs all ached in the most pleasurable way.

Confused by her body's reaction, Emily quickly pulled away. "I wish you wouldn't do that here." She fought against the desire to wipe her mouth, fought against the urge to kiss him again. Instead, she lifted her head and gave him her haughtiest stare.

For just a second, irritation flared in his eyes. Then a lopsided grin slid over his mouth and a familiar twinkle lit his eyes. "It's my house. I will do as I please." Holding out his arm he waited for her to take it. "I'm starving; let's take our tea in the study today."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Emily perched on the edge of the tufted leather chair and watched as the maid placed the tea tray on the table.

"Would you like me to pour, my lady?" Kate stood, hands clasped in front of her and awaited Emily's instruction.

Smiling warmly, Emily shook her head. "No, thank you. I'll take care of it."

"Yes, Ma'am." Bobbing a curtsey, Kate hurried from the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

Emily leaned forward, and with deft movements, poured tea into two paper thin china cups. Fragrant steam wafted around her as she added a lump of sugar to each cup and stirred, the spoon never making contact with the delicate china. Finally, she passed one to Mr. Rossi and took one for herself. After taking a sip, she placed her cup and saucer carefully on the table to her side and let out a quiet sigh.

"Would you care for a scone?" she asked, already reaching for one of the plates on the tray.

When he nodded, Emily placed a scone on the plate then added several spoonfuls of clotted cream and a heaping spoon of jam, before holding the plate out for him to take. He plucked it from her hand, a thoughtful look on his face.

Pausing in the process of preparing a scone for herself, Emily watched him nervously. "What? Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing is wrong." He shook his head slowly. "When did you learn how I take my tea and how many spoons of cream to put on my scone? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were interested in my likes and dislikes."

Flustered, Emily dropped the spoon into the bowl of jam, the metal clattering noisily against the edge. "I…" she swallowed, silently cursing the heat she could feel along her cheekbones. "We've done this almost every day for six weeks. It doesn't take a brilliant mind to figure it out."

"Ah, Lady Emily, you wound me." He chuckled and lifted his cup for a sip of tea.

She settled back in her chair and used the edge of her fork to cut off a bit of scone. Just before raising the bite to her mouth, she let her eyes rake over him. "You look perfectly healthy to me. I doubt my words have had any effect on your ego, my lord."

His laughter was sharp and startling. "Sparring with you has become one of the highlights of my day."

Not sure what to make of that, Emily merely popped the forkful of scone into her mouth and chewed slowly. Sometimes she was sure he disliked her as much as she did him. Then he would do or say something that intimated he cared about her, at least a tiny amount. Those were the times she lost sight of why she was married to him and allowed herself to think about having something more.

She swallowed and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. "Tell me about your day."

Emily listened intently as he gave her the news from Parliament, where things were in a state of upheaval, as the members tried to keep up with the ever-changing needs of the people it was designed to govern. Unlike the fanciful conversations she'd been forced to endure with other men, conversations about nothing more important than the weather, Mr. Rossi _talked_ to her. He seemed to enjoy answering her questions and hearing her opinions. It wasn't until Kate returned to collect the tea try that Emily realized how much time had passed.

"Oh my!" She turned to look at the clock sitting on the mantle. "I should get ready for dinner." She rose, running a hand over her hair, feeling the loose strands around her face. "I had Cook set a table in the back parlor. If that's acceptable."

"Whatever you wish." He stood and laid a hand on her arm, holding her in place. "I have something for you."

Without ceremony, he moved around behind the desk, pulled open a drawer and withdrew a package wrapped in plain paper tied with a single ribbon. Handing it to her, he urged, "Open it."

"But I didn't get you a gift."

"Ah, but I got one for you." When she made no move to open the package, he continued, "It's not a contest, Emily. Now open your gift."

Flustered, she tugged on the end of the bow. When it was loose, she slid it off the package and dropped it on the desk. Then, with fingers that trembled, she spread the edges of the paper. Reverently, she lifted the leather bound volume from its wrapping and ran her fingers over the cover. It was smooth and cool against her skin. Opening it, she allowed her eyes to flutter closed as she inhaled deeply. The smells of paper and leather and ink assailed her; smells she had always associated with escape from her everyday world. Finally, she opened her eyes and read the title.

"Frankenstein?" It was the novel people were just beginning to whisper about. Published two years earlier by an anonymous author, there were a very limited number in print. That he had taken the time to track it down, that he understood she would rather have this than anything published by Jane Austen, spoke volumes about Mr. Rossi.

Her voice shaking, Emily looked up at him. "I…I don't know what to say."

A shadow passed over his face. In a flat voice, he said, "If it isn't to your liking, I can always get you something else."

"No!" Emily's yelp seemed to startle him almost as much as it did her. "No," she repeated more calmly. "I… Nobody has ever given me something so _perfect_."

Mr. Rossi drew in a deep breath and gave her a lopsided smile. "I thought we could read it together." He dragged a hand over his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers. "In the evenings. Something to pass the time."

It struck Emily that she had never seen him look as unsure as he did at that moment. Maybe, she told herself, he really was concerned she wouldn't like the gift. But that seemed ridiculous. He was still the most arrogant man she had ever met. A simple gift couldn't possibly make him doubt himself. Giving a mental shrug, she called a smile to her face.

"That would be lovely." Emily realized she meant it. It _would_ be nice to read to him and have him read to her, to share their impressions, to spend time together. Confused by the emotions rolling around just below her skin, Emily cradled the book to her chest defensively. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Go up and get changed. I'll have Cook hold dinner for another hour." When she would have left the book, he shook his head. "Take it with you. Maybe we can start reading tonight."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A fire was burning brightly in the fireplace of the sitting room of the master suite when Emily retired there after dinner. The pale yellow drapes were drawn across the windows, hiding the rainy night from her gaze. Settling onto the settee near the hearth, she debated on beginning to read, then decided to wait for Mr. Rossi, who was downstairs in the study having an after dinner whiskey. With a resigned sigh, she picked up the needlework she had abandoned days earlier and began to ply the fabric with needle and thread.

It was mindless work, and she took the opportunity to let her thoughts wander. Over the past couple of weeks, she had begun to formulate a plan to relieve her boredom. She was confident she had worked everything out in her mind: all the arguments, all the benefits, all the drawbacks. She had an answer for every possible question Mr. Rossi might raise. The problem was finding the right time to broach the subject.

Distracted, Emily jumped as the needle pierced her finger. Reflexively, she raised her hand to her mouth and sucked at the drop of blood that had appeared there. Suddenly, she was assailed by a memory from their wedding night. At the time, she hadn't really thought much of it, at least not as an indication of his feelings for her.

_Emily was standing beside the bed, uncertainty making her reluctant to crawl beneath the covers. She watched in silence as Mr. Rossi moved about the room dousing the lamps, puddles of shadow following in his wake. Finally, he turned and saw her hovering there._

_Shoving his hands on his hips, he stood there, clad in nothing more than an undershirt and y-fronts, bare legs firmly planted. His entire body canted toward her in a pose that was nothing if not confrontational. "Emily, I've already told you there is nothing to fear from me. Get into bed."_

"_I…" She swallowed, grateful that he couldn't see her blush in the dimness of the room. "Shouldn't there be blood?"_

_For a long moment he stood there, his brow drawn down in confusion. Then he began to chuckle. The chuckle turned into a belly laugh. At that moment, she wanted to hit him. To pummel him. How dare he make fun of her, humiliate her? _

"_Stop it!" She hissed the words at him, venom in every syllable. "If all you can do is stand there and laugh then I will let the servants believe whatever they want."_

"_What?" he shot back. "That you weren't a virgin?"_

_She crossed the room then, hands clenched into tight fists. "I will have you know that _I_, unlike some people, come into this…_union_…never having lain with anyone."_

"_Are you jealous?" His lips twisted up in a smirk and the usual teasing glint was missing from his eyes._

_Barking out a shocked laugh, she shook her head. "You are insane. Being jealous would imply that I care one wit about what you do."_

_He opened his mouth to retort then seemed to lose the will. Running a hand through his hair, he looked as her with eyes as flat and emotionless as a serpent's as he asked, "Do you have a pin?"_

_For several seconds she simply stared at him. The change of subject served to let the air out of her sails. But the look in his eyes troubled her in a way she couldn't quite pinpoint. If she didn't know better she would think she had hurt him with her barb._

"_What kind of pin?" She took a step back, her mind racing to figure out what he would be doing with a pin._

"_A needle, a pin, something sharp." He looked at her then as if she were daft. "Something I can use to prick my finger."_

"_What? Why?" _

"_Well," he bit out, "our options are limited. I can stick my finger and smear blood on the sheets. Or I can stick yours." When she instinctively shoved her hands behind her back, he nodded. "Well, there's one other option."_

"_I have a hat pin." Emily dashed across the room and pulled a hat box from atop the wardrobe. Lifting the lid, she extracted the pin and held it out for him to take._

_She watched as he calmly took the pin from her and jabbed it into the pad of his thumb, wincing as the tip penetrated his skin. When blood appeared, he crossed to the bed, drew the covers back and rubbed his thumb on the cotton, leaving a dark red stain. _

"Are you all right?" Mr. Rossi's voice interrupted her thoughts and she jumped at the sudden intrusion.

Yanking her finger from her mouth, Emily balled her hand into a fist in her lap. "I'm fine."

"Let me see." He crossed the room, his long legs carrying him quickly to her side. He sat down beside her and took her hand in his; he uncurled her fingers and stared down at the drop of blood welling from the tiny hole in her index finger. Without hesitation, he bent his head and touched his lips to her fingertip.

Suddenly, there wasn't enough air in the room. Emily wasn't sure how or why, but it was gone, and with it, her will to protest. She knew she should pull away, should be outraged at the intimacy. Instead, she found herself trembling as his mustache brushed over her skin. Then his tongue laved her finger, and the feelings from earlier were back. Vaguely, she wondered if this was lust - this fullness in her breasts, this hollow weight in the pit of her stomach, this hot tingle in her most feminine place.

She could feel his eyes on her, watching her, could feel his lips curve into a smile. When he drew away, she bit her bottom lip to stop the whimper of protest that rose in her throat. The glint in his eyes said he knew a secret. More specifically, he knew her secret. Jerking her hand away, Emily turned her head to study the fire.

When did this man's touch become something her body responded to? When did this man's touch become something she wanted instead of abhorred?

Mr. Rossi placed a rough finger against her cheek and turned her face to his. "You are a beautiful woman, Emily. One day you shall cease to fight me, and I will make you feel more than you ever thought possible."

She wanted to be angry, but there was something in his voice, a sincerity that told her he wasn't teasing or bragging. There was longing in his look, gentleness in his touch. For that moment, Emily allowed herself to believe he might actually want her for more than just the social benefits their marriage could afford him.

"I'm sure I feel what any woman feels." She tried for haughty, wanting nothing more than to put this entire instance behind them. But the words sounded weak and unsure, even to her.

"Are you?" His voice was soft and warm. More than words, his question was a caress. "You know what it feels like to make love to a man?"

Once again, Emily braced herself for the rush of anger such words should have engendered. She waited for it, hoping to use it to put some distance between them. Once again, it failed to come. Lust, hot and sweet, like warm honey, rolled through her veins. Trapped by his gaze, she struggled to draw in a breath. He reached out and trailed a finger over her mouth, and she was shocked at the rightness of his skin against hers. She had kissed him hundreds of times, and none of them had felt as intimate as this one touch.

"Kiss me, Emily."

Deep and slightly uneven, his words slid over her. He made no move to touch her, but the hint of challenge in his voice and the hot glint in his eyes was more than enough to have gooseflesh rising on her arms. She shivered. Not because the room was cold. She neither noticed nor cared about the temperature. No, she shook from the force of her wanting, and from the conflict that wanting caused.

Drawn to him, unable to break the spell he was weaving around her with his voice and his eyes, Emily turned her body to his. She expected him to reach for her, wanted him to take the decision away from her. But he waited, allowing her to make the decision. Still she wavered, her body swaying against the pull of his, hoping against hope this aching need would pass.

"Emily." He murmured her name, and she felt each syllable pull at her.

Fear gripped her; fear of the unknown, fear of opening herself up to this man, fear of being hurt. It was this fear that kept her rooted in place when every fiber of her being was screaming at her to kiss him, to take the first step on this path with him. Gripping her skirt with trembling hands, Emily closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, hoping to steady herself.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Don't you want to read this evening?" Even to her, the question sounded inane. She knew neither of them had any desire to read or play one of the board games they normally engaged in. There was too much electricity in the air to allow either of them to concentrate on such mundane things. Tonight, no matter how she tried to avoid it, she was going to allow him more than a simple kiss.

Mr. Rossi shook his head, a rueful smile playing about his full mouth. "No."

She swallowed hard, and forced her fingers to loosen their hold on her skirt. On legs that wobbled dangerously, Emily leaned toward him, until her breasts brushed against his chest, until she could feel his thigh pressed against her skirt. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she kissed him.

He tasted of whiskey, and Emily wondered if just that could make her intoxicated. Surely, that was the only way to explain the lightheadedness that had her clinging to his shoulders and parting her lips under his without a second's hesitation. In the back of her mind, she cautioned herself to slow down. But her body refused to listen. She pressed closer, sliding her hands around to the back of his neck, and wondered at the quiet moan that escaped him.

Mr. Rossi settled one hand at the small of her back and used the other to cup the back of her head. His strong fingers cradled her while he used his mouth to ravish hers – gentleness and savagery in everything thing he did. Every move of his lips, every stroke of his tongue tugged at an invisible string that ran straight through her center to the secret place between her thighs. What had started as a tingle was now an ache.

Without warning, he tore his mouth from hers and trailed his lips along her jaw to her ear. "Do you trust me?"

Before she could form the word his mouth was on hers, and she could tell this kiss, unlike all the others before it, had purpose. She hadn't realized he was holding back in their prior exchanges, until now. But there was subtle dominance in his touch and his kiss was proprietary. His hands were in her hair, fumbling to release the pins, tugging at the strands until it fell around her shoulders. And all the while, he never stopped kissing her: tiny nips with his teeth, long needy sweeps of his tongue, and soft lingering presses of his lips to hers. Emily had never known there were so many kinds of kisses; each of them speaking to her in a way the others could not.

When finally she felt his fingers at the ribbons holding the bodice of her dress, Emily stiffened. But he was there, stroking his hands along her arms, soothing her. He whispered assurances, promising to ask no more than she was willing to give. His words and his touch continued to stoke the fire that was roaring through her veins, and before she realized what was happening, his mouth was running along the tops of her breasts.

He was looking up at her as his teeth grazed the soft skin of her chest. She could see the need blazing in his eyes, and his desire fed her own. She wanted to touch him, to have him touch her. In fact, if he didn't do something to help ease the ache that was beginning to consume her, Emily was afraid she might just die from the wanting.

Everywhere he touched burned; her cheek, her throat, her shoulders, the delicate skin along her collarbones. Emily clung to him, her hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into the fine linen of his shirt. She had her eyes closed so tightly she could see colors swirl behind her lids. So concentrated was she on the way he was making her feel, she failed to notice him working her bodice down below her breasts.

Mr. Rossi paused in his ministrations, and nervous, Emily opened her eyes. He was looking at her, his gaze hot and heavy against her skin. She had seen her body in the mirror thousands of times over the course of her life. But she had never thought of how it would look to someone else. Never thought of how her breasts, full and firm and nicely rounded with nipples just a few shades different from her pale skin – the light pink of a blush – would look to a man. At that moment, with her dress and chemise around her waist, Emily was so self-conscious she barely resisted the urge to cover herself with her hands.

He loomed over her, pressing her against the arm of the settee. The carved wood was cutting into her back, and she wondered vaguely if she might have a bruise there later. Slowly, reverence in his every move, he bent his head and nuzzled the valley between her breasts. His mustache tickled while his afternoon beard scraped her delicate skin. Turning his head slightly left and then right, Mr. Rossi kissed each breast in turn.

While she was trying to catalogue the sensation of his warm lips against her skin…against _that_ skin…he was sliding to the floor to kneel beside the settee. Then his hands were on her. One arm supported her while his other hand explored her body. His palm brushed over her nipples, his fingers lightly squeezed her breasts. And his mouth? His mouth ravaged hers. If she had been thinking clearly, been thinking at all, she would've used the word plundered. But she wasn't thinking, only feeling.

Emily couldn't process it all at once. She tried; her mind struggled to catalogue each touch, every kiss. But it was happening so fast, and yet, not fast enough. She wanted him to slow down, to let her absorb it all, and she wanted him to hurry, because the ache was unbearable. Her breasts felt swollen, tight and hard and…

"Oh, God!" she gasped as his mouth left hers to wrap tightly around a nipple. Then he began to suck, his lips tugging and releasing over and over until she wanted to weep from the sheer beauty of what he was doing for her.

Unconsciously, she arched her back and threaded her fingers through his hair, drawing him as close as possible. Instinct, something primal and dark and a little dangerous, had her clenching her thighs and rolling her hips in an effort to ease the delicious discomfort between her legs. She had never known, never imagined, it would be like this. The sharp bite of need that was concentrated at her very center, the knowledge that only his touch could bring her relief.

In a move that bordered on violent, he jerked himself away from her. With shaking hands, he began tugging his shirt over his head. Emily stared up at him with wide eyes, afraid to look away, lest he disappear. When the garment was nothing more than a pile of snow white linen on the floor, he removed his undershirt and dropped it as well. Then he took her hands in his and placed her palms against his chest.

As soon as she touched him, his eyes slammed closed and he tilted his face up toward heaven, his lips moving as if in prayer. With his flushed cheeks and mussed hair he looked untamed, and Emily felt a frisson of fear move through her. Then he looked down at her and smiled that crooked smile, and she was lost in the feel of him once again.

Curious, Emily allowed herself to look at him the way he had looked at her. So different from her own soft curves, he was broad and muscular. His skin was warm and alive under her fingers. The smattering of hair tickled her hands as she slid them over him. She brushed over the flat discs of his nipples, intrigued by the hiss of his indrawn breath.

All her attention was focused on the textures of Mr. Rossi; smooth and rough, soft and hard, his torso was a tactile feast that she was intent on partaking of. She was so focused, so concentrated she didn't realize he had unbuttoned his pants until he took her hand and guided it to his exposed penis. Shock ran through her and Emily jerked her hand away.

"What are you doing?" Emily stared up at him, horrified, deliberately keeping her eyes on his face.

"Emily," he groaned. "Please touch me."

She couldn't help it, she let her eyes lower, bobbing down and then up for a quick glimpse. Not sure what she expected to see, Emily couldn't deny that what she saw made her want to touch him. But more than that, she wanted to look at him. She wondered what that said about her, that she could be interested in seeing him naked. Hands clenched into fists, pressed tightly against her abdomen, she looked.

_He's beautiful,_ she realized. His manhood jutted out at her from a nest of dark curls. The shaft was dark red, angry looking, and the tip flared out like a blunt sword. The skin was stretched so tight around the head that it had begun to slide back, exposing smoother skin so engorged it was almost purple. And she wanted to touch it, to test the weight of it, to know if the skin was a satiny as it appeared.

"I…" She swallowed hard, refusing to meet his eyes. "I don't know…"

Gently, he took her hand in his. "I'll teach you."

When she nodded, he used his hand to wrap hers around his erection. For a second or two, or maybe more, Emily simply held him in her hand. So many things were running through her mind as she tried to sort out what she was feeling. He was hot and heavy against her palm, his heat burning into her, marking her as his in some invisible way. Without thinking, she tightened her fingers around him.

"Yes," he hissed, his head dropping forward until his chin rested on his chest. "Just like that."

Unsure of what to do, Emily trailed her fingers along his length, tracing the thick vein along the underside of his shaft, and he urged her on. She skimmed a fingernail around the head, and he stopped breathing. When she squeezed again, his hips jerked against her hand and he groaned. _Again_, she thought, allowing his reactions to guide her through this uncharted territory. Emboldened, Emily moved her fingers over his velvety skin with more pressure, more assurance. She felt him tremble and, in that very second, began to realize her power over him. With heavy-lidded eyes she watched his face, intrigued and even more aroused by the play of emotions there.

He wasn't idle. His hands roamed her body; her breasts, her stomach, her waist…everywhere. With his hands and mouth, he worshipped her. He whispered to her of beauty and grace, of sex and love. With every brush of his skin against hers, with every breath, every word, every kiss, he transported her to a place she had never imagined, a place of sensations so intense she could scarcely breathe.

When Mr. Rossi's fingers first touched her calf, Emily jumped. She had been so overwhelmed by his lovemaking that she hadn't even noticed when he began working his hand under her skirt. He was feathering his fingers along the inside of her knee, and she felt her thigh muscles loosening, her legs dropping open in anticipation. _Wanton_, the word rolled through her mind, and she tensed under his touch.

"Don't. Just relax." His words were a whispered groan against her breastbone. "It's going to be so good. I'll make it good."

He stroked along the inside of her thighs, and Emily trembled. She wanted this, wanted his touch, wanted to know if there was more pleasure to be had. Somehow, she knew there was, knew he would be the one to bring her to heights she had never even imagined. Sighing, she tangled her fingers in his hair and dragged his face up to hers. Then, he was kissing her and he was hot and thick against her palm and his hand was tugging at the tie on her pantaloons. And when they were loose, he slipped inside and brushed over her sex.

For a long moment Emily's breath was caught in her lungs before escaping on a moan so quiet it was almost a sigh. The stroke of his fingers against her swollen flesh was more than she had ever imagined it could be and yet not enough. She was so aroused, so sensitive to even the slightest pressure, that his touch, while exquisite, was almost painful.

With her eyes closed, Emily could hear the blood rushing past her ears, could feel her heart racing beneath her breasts, fluttering like a bird in a cage, could feel the same thundering beat between her thighs. It seemed that her pulse was driven by every press of his palm against her mound, by the slip and slide of his calloused digits between the lips of her sex; in fact, all her attention was focused just there, at the place where Mr. Rossi's finger was slowly, steadily pushing into her body.

He was kissing her, short, hard presses of his lips to her lips, to her cheeks, to her throat and chest. When he reached her breasts, he used his tongue and his teeth, nipping and soothing her nipples until they were standing up in hard, tight peaks. Then his mouth was on hers again, his tongue thrusting between her lips in a beautiful counterpoint to the thrusts of his finger into her vagina. Push and pull, in and out, and Emily chased him, her mouth clinging to his, her tongue slipping between his teeth to slide against his, her hips rising and falling with every slow, slippery push of his hand.

She could feel it building, the need like a razor's edge against her skin. The ache between her legs was spreading down the insides of her thighs and up into the pit of her belly. Opening her legs just a bit more, she pushed back against his hand, forcing him as deep as their bodies would allow. As if from a great distance she heard him moan, heard him say her name, but nothing mattered except the delicious tingle that was beginning just where his thumb was pressing against a tiny spot at the top of her vulva.

And then it exploded. The tingle and the heat turned into a blend of pleasure and pain that rippled through her entire body in waves. Light and sound, even time seemed to expand and contract with every pulse of her muscles. Every sense was on high alert. She could smell the earthy musk of her release, could hear a mewling sound that she realized was coming from her. And then, with a shout that bordered on triumphant, Mr. Rossi thrust hard against the hand that was still gripping his engorged penis. His semen, thick and hot, ran down over her thumb and fingers. His smell, tangier and sharper than hers, drifted on the thick air. Emily forced her eyes open then, watching his face as she slipped her thumb over the head of his penis, smearing the viscous white fluid across his still throbbing flesh.

Mr. Rossi's eyes slid open and he stared down at her with something akin to wonder in his eyes. Gently, he slipped his finger from her body, and Emily had to bite down on her lip to stop the whimper that almost escaped. Still, he must have read her reaction in her eyes, because he smiled before raising his hand to his mouth and sucking his finger inside. Emily didn't know if she should be mesmerized or horrified. Honestly, all she did know at that moment was that she wanted to do this with him again. As many times as possible.

Without a word, he retrieved his undershirt and used it to clean her hand. Suddenly, Emily realized just how she must look. Her skirts were up around her thighs and her bodice was around her waist. Her breasts were on display. He must think she was as shameless as she was beginning to feel. With her free hand, she began to tug at the top of her dress.

Mr. Rossi laid a hand over hers. "Don't." He shook his head, dark eyes full of emotions she couldn't quite decipher. "You are so beautiful."

"What must you think of me?" She tugged ineffectually against his grip.

"Oh, Emily," he bent until his mouth just brushed her ear, his breath tickling her. "I think of you all day, every day, in more ways than you could begin to imagine. I have been so patient, needing to touch you, wanting to see you just like this. And now…" He swallowed. "Now that I've tasted you, I find I only want more."

The rumble of his voice, the gossamer brush of his mustache over the curve of her ear, the warm caress of his breath had her melting again. The ache between her thighs was back – not as strong but still present. Suddenly, instead of trying to pull away from him, she was guiding his hands to her breasts and arching into his touch.

His hands shook as the raked along her sides and across her stomach. His kiss was hungrier, harder, more demanding than it had ever been and Emily found herself responding in kind. Her fingers dug into the firm muscles of his back, and she used her teeth to nip at his bottom lip. It seemed that the more he asked the more she was willing to give, and the more she wanted in return.

With a groan, Mr. Rossi pulled away from her and stood up. He took a second to steady himself after kneeling on the floor for so long. Then he reached down and tugged her to her feet.

"I'm going to take you to bed now."

Emily didn't have time think about what he said before she was lifted from her feet, her body held against his close to his chest. He carried her across the room and through the door into the bedchamber. Stopping beside the bed, he let her down slowly until her feet once again touched the ground.

The heat in his eyes warmed her, set her blood to boiling so that she didn't even feel the chill of the room. With little effort, he worked her dress up until he could lift it over her head. Then, with hands that were hot against her skin, he began plucking at the ties on her petticoat. And when he dipped his head and placed a hot, open mouth kiss against the top of her breast, time blurred for Emily.

Soon, without quite remembering how it happened, she was naked and sprawled across the bed with Mr. Rossi stretched out beside her. And he was naked, gloriously naked and warm and touching her from head to toe. The only sounds in the room were of the fire snapping in the hearth and their ragged breathing.

His scent surrounded her; soap and sweat and warm skin mingled to create an odor that was uniquely his. And underlying that were the scents of arousal, both hers and his, their two aromas blending on the cool air.

Mr. Rossi was sucking her nipples, his body pressing hers in to the bed, his erection hard against her hip. Emily's back was arched, her fingers tangled in his hair, her body instinctively riding the hard muscles of the thigh he had pressed between her legs.

When he began peppering kisses along her ribcage and over the soft skin of her stomach, Emily simply tightened her fingers in his silky hair and pressed up against his lips. His tongue drew a circle around her navel and then trailed lower and lower. Before she fully realized his intent, he had slipped between her thighs and pressed his mouth to her sex.

"Oh? Oh!" She moaned out, hips lifting off the mattress. She had thought his fingers felt good. And they had. But not as good as this. This was hot and wet and so incredibly _wonderful_. He ran his tongue along her lips in long broad strokes then pressed hungry, open-mouthed kisses there. With fingers that trembled, he spread her open and pushed his tongue inside her where his finger had been just a short while before, and Emily was sure she might just die from all the feelings tumbling around inside her.

Then he slid his mouth up and suckled.

Her cry was strangled, a gasping plea for God. Fingers twisting in the sheets, she spread her legs as wide as possible and pushed up into his mouth. She could feel his hands grasping her hips, knew he was trying to hold her still, but she was beyond the point of being able to stop her response. She hadn't known, had never even imagined such intense pleasure existed. She was on fire, her whole body burning from the inside out. And she wanted more. Knew, in some deep recess of her mind, she would always want more of these feelings, of this man.

She could feel his fingers at her entrance, a gentle pressure that seemed such a contrast to everything else that was happening. He dipped inside then pulled away, over and over until she heard herself asking him for more.

"Please," she whispered. "Oh, God, please."

Slowly, tortuously, he pressed into her. His fingers – surely there must be more than one – stretching her in a way that had her holding her breath. He lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes studying her face.

"Is this all right?" He placed a soft kiss just above her pubic hair. "Am I hurting you?"

Releasing the breath she had been holding, Emily willed herself to relax. "No," she shook her head. "I want…" She trailed off; unbelievably embarrassed by the words she wanted to say.

Still watching her, Mr. Rossi began to move his fingers. It was the same in and out motion as before, but the way her muscles were stretching to accommodate him made it different. "Tell me what you want, Emily. Don't be ashamed. There are no secrets here."

Biting her bottom lip and rolling her hips against his hand, she held on for just another moment. Then the words came out on a rush of air. "More. I want more."

And he gave her more. He took her body to the edge time and time again, only to hesitate there, refusing to push her over. And all the while, Emily desperately sought the release he seemed determined to withhold. By the time the orgasm took her, her body was slick with sweat and she was practically mindless with need.

Then, and only then, did he slide up until his face was even with hers, until his hips were pressed against her, until her breasts were flattened against his chest. Then, and only then, did he brush the hair out of her eyes and smile down at her and say, "I'm going to take you now, Emily."

His voice was a rasp, almost unrecognizable, and the look in his eyes was both loving and predatory. When she nodded, unable to deny him anything, he kissed her. His mouth was slick with her juices and she was intrigued, and a little unnerved, by the very idea of tasting herself in such a way.

He was shaking, his body trembling every place that it touched hers. But his mouth was hot and hungry and his heart was slamming against his ribs so hard that she could feel it. And she knew, in a way that all women know, that his desire for her was almost beyond his control.

She watched the muscles of his jaw work as he reached between them and steadied his manhood at her opening. She watched his eyes slam closed and his nostrils flare as he sucked in air. She watched him until she felt the pain begin. Without realizing it, she must have made a sound, some little noise that told him she was hurting, because he stopped. Stopped breathing. Stopped moving. Just stopped.

But he wasn't the only one who wanted this, who wanted to be joined in the most primitive way two people could be. Emily wanted it too. Biting her lip, she pushed her hips up, rocking against him, urging him on. He was watching her again, she could feel his eyes on her, and so she looked up at him. The question was there. And she answered it by rocking against him yet again. Suddenly, they were moving together, the rhythm of their bodies driving them closer and closer to the inevitable.

Then, with a press of his lips to her cheek and a whispered, "Relax. Let me.", against her ear, Mr. Rossi pressed forward and he was inside her. And she wanted to weep.

Why had no one ever told her? All those women who had taken such delight in talking about their experiences, none of them ever talked about _this_. Maybe because there were no words that could adequately describe it. After all, how did one describe the joining of two souls?

His face was buried in her neck, his breath hot and damp against her, and every exhalation sent a shiver along her spine. There was a fine tremor moving just under his skin. Emily could feel it in her fingertips and against the insides of her thighs. She could feel him throbbing inside her, stretching her, molding her. And somehow she knew she would never be the same.

After pressing his lips to the side of her throat, Mr. Rossi lifted his head and looked down at her. "I'm not going to last long."

Confused, Emily gave her head a slight shake. "It's all right."

Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth, sparkled in his eyes. "You say that now. But next time…" He trailed off then leaned down to brush his lips over hers.

Slowly, he began to move, and Emily realized he might be right. Next time, she would want this part to last forever. With her eyes closed, she concentrated on the way he felt buried inside her, the way he felt when he slid in and out. She concentrated on the sweet ache of having him there, of having him where no other had ever been, where no other would ever be

_I love him,_ she realized, her eyes flying open in shock.

She wasn't sure how it happened or when it happened, but it _had_ happened. And she had no idea what to do about it.

Then he slipped a hand beneath her knee and raised it up until her leg was at his waist, and she didn't have time to think about what a precarious position her heart was in. When he bent his head and dragged his tongue – rough and wet – over a nipple and she realized she would give him anything.

Emily gave herself over to the act of loving him; to the pounding of his heart against her chest, to the sweet press of his body into hers, to the way the sweat beaded along his hairline, to the way her heart seemed to swell with every stroke. She clung to the moment, to each and every sensation with every fiber of her being. She wanted to remember this time for the rest of her life, to look back in her dotage and know what it felt like to be young and adored.

That ache was back. Not as strong or as urgent as before, but still an ache that would soon demand relief. Under her hands, she could feel Mr. Rossi's muscles tightening, his body trembling. The smooth ebb and flow of his stroke was quickly giving way to a more frenzied pace. His hips rose and fell, faster and faster, driving his body into hers, until, with a quiet grunt, he seemed to freeze there in her arms. His hips were pushing against her, grinding into her, and his breath was coming in short, harsh bursts. She could feel him pulsing inside her, and with a quiet sigh, she found her own release.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The lamps had been doused, and the fire was the only light left in the room. Emily was snuggled firmly against Mr. Rossi – her back to his front in the same way spoons might nest together. His arm was draped over her side, his hand resting possessively just under her breast. His breath puffed hot against the back of her neck.

Tentatively, still unsure of how she was supposed to behave after all the things that had just transpired, Emily ran her fingers over the exposed skin of his forearm. He was so warm and solid, the fine hairs teasing her fingertips.

Without thinking, perhaps emboldened by their intimacy, Emily blurted out the words she had been rehearsing for weeks.

"I would, sir, very much like for you to hire me to work at your paper."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: This was written for Mingsmommy who bid on me in the LJ Fandomaid auction to help Japan. Her prompt was 'circa 19th century - David Rossi is wealthy but untitled. The Prentiss family is titled but have lost much of their wealth and are burdened with a headstrong daughter. Bodice buster marriage of convenience.'

I want to give a shout out to Mingsmommy and Losingntrnslatn for their encouragement and mad beta skills!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Outside the open window, day was sliding toward night. As the setting sun painted the evening sky with brilliant pinks and oranges, the heat of the day finally began to dissipate. On the lawn below, tables were scattered about, their white linen cloths a sharply elegant contrast to the deep green of the grass. Emily watched as Spencer moved jerkily around the area, lighting the torches that would keep away the insects and provide light to the guests who would soon fill the space.

"Are you ready?" Mr. Rossi's voice drew her attention from the awkward grace of Spencer.

Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded. "Should we go down?"

He crossed the room to stand beside her at the window. "It's a beautiful night." His hand touched the small of her back and Emily stiffened. "Is this how it is to be tonight?" he asked, his voice sounding more tired than angry.

She wanted to turn into him, to wrap her arms around him, but she wouldn't allow herself. Since that night, the night which bled into day while he took her to heights of passion she never imagined, and then laughed at her desire to work for his newspaper, she had made every attempt to distance herself from him – both body and soul. In fact, she had spent the days since his rejection being the perfect, docile wife he desired. She ran his home perfectly and entertained his guests beautifully. But there were no more conversations over tea and Frankenstein remained unopened in her bureau.

With a sigh that was more a sagging of her muscles than a true exhalation, Emily simply stepped away from his loose embrace. "Why should tonight be different from last night, or any of the past one hundred nights?"

Muttering a curse, he dragged his hands over his face. When he looked up at her, all expression was missing from his eyes. "Come," he said, holding out his arm in a gesture that, while the height of propriety, was cold. "We have to take our places in the receiving line."

Tightening her jaw, clenching her fists until her nails cut into her palms, Emily fought against the tears pressing against the backs of her eyes. Emotions held even more rigid than her spine, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and allowed him to escort her downstairs to join the celebration.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The bride glowed; her golden hair, cornflower eyes and porcelain skin all seemed lit from within. Standing next to her, the groom's usually stoic countenance was softer, happier than Emily had ever seen. He had eyes only for the petite blonde at his side, and Emily wanted nothing more than to have a man look at her as if she were the only woman on earth. Instead, she was forever bound to a man who had laughed in the face of her dreams.

"Smile, Emily." Lady Prentiss hissed in her daughter's ear. "You look like this is a funeral, not a wedding."

"Sorry, Mother," Emily murmured. She hadn't realized her discomfiture was so obvious. However, considering Lady Prentiss' concern with appearances it shouldn't have surprised Emily. She only hoped JJ and Aaron were so wrapped up in one another neither of them had noticed.

When the Duke and Duchess Seaver approached, their daughter following docilely along, Emily felt Mr. Rossi straighten his shoulders. With a smile that she hoped appeared more genuine than it felt plastered on her face, she glanced at her husband from the corner of her eye. She wasn't sure, but it seemed that his eyes were a little brighter, his smile a little more flirtatious.

"Lady Emily," the Lady Ashley Seaver clasped Emily's hand in both of hers. "How lovely to see you. We missed you at the summer house last weekend." Cutting her eyes over to Mr. Rossi, she widened her smile and looked up at him through her lashes. "Of course, we were thrilled to have your handsome husband in attendance."

"I am terribly sorry I was unable to attend, but I thought it best to be here for the wedding preparations." Emily squeezed the younger woman's hands before gently disengaging from her grasp.

With a sly grin, Ashley stepped over to stand in front of Mr. Rossi and extended her hand for his kiss. As he bent low and pressed his lips to her skin, her other hand fluttered up to rest at her throat. "Such a gentleman," she simpered.

Placing a proprietary hand on her husband's arm, Emily was surprised to realize that the painful twist in her stomach was jealousy. "He is every inch the gentleman," she concurred. "I am quite the lucky one to be married to him."

"Perhaps you would allow me to borrow him later-" Lady Ashley paused provocatively, "-For a dance."

"If your dance card isn't full." Emily deliberately turned to exchange greetings with the Duchess Strauss, effectively shutting out Lady Ashley.

Later, as they crossed the lawn to take their places at dinner, Mr. Rossi leaned down and whispered in her ear. "If I didn't know how much you despise me, I would think you jealous."

"Jealous?" Emily snorted, a defiantly inelegant sound considering the people surrounding them. "Why should I be jealous? Lady Ashley flirts with everyone." His chuckle told Emily she had given away far more than she intended. Annoyed, she added, "Why must you taunt me so? Does it give you pleasure?"

Stopping, he tugged on her arm until she turned to face him. "Nothing and no one has ever given me as much pleasure as you." His voice rumbled along her skin, soft and low for her ears only.

In the moonlight, his eyes glittered with a hunger she remembered as if it were yesterday. The light from the torches gave his face hollows and shadows, lighting his brow and cheekbones with a golden hue. She could feel the heat from his body reaching out to her, and she wanted him. In that moment, with their friends and family less than twenty feet away, she wanted him to gather her in his arms and whisk her off to their bedchamber.

But more than wanting his arms around her, she wanted his respect. Irritated at her own weakness, Emily raised her chin and glared at him.

"We should take our seats. Mother will be angry if they have to hold dinner for us."

She watched the emotions play over his face: anger and lust and resignation chasing one after the other behind his eyes. With a thread of steel running through his voice, he replied, "Of course, my dear, we shouldn't keep the guests waiting."

Emily allowed him to lead her to their seats at the head table, biting the inside of her cheek the entire time in an effort to let him have the last word. It wasn't easy, because she really wasn't the kind of person who let things go. She liked to discuss things; to pull them out and examine them from all angles until she understood the how and why of them. That was just one reason she was positive she would be good at writing for Mr. Rossi's newspaper. If only she could make him see that. But the man was impossible, standing firm in his refusal to even entertain the idea.

"Don't look so pensive, Em." JJ's hand on her arm pulled Emily from her thoughts. "Tonight isn't the time for such heavy thoughts."

Emily mustered up a smile for the bride. "I'm fine. Simply lost in thought for a moment." Her heart breaking a bit at the joy in her cousin's eyes, she said, "You look absolutely stunning, by the way."

If possible, JJ's smile grew even more brilliant. "Thank you." Then a tiny furrow appeared in her brow. "Please, Emily, let go of this crazy idea. Give yourself a chance at happiness."

Wanting to scream at the unfairness of it all, Emily nodded. "I will try. I promise." With an effort, she ignored the burning behind her eyes. "Now, eat your dinner. You are going to need all your strength for your wedding night."

Blushing furiously, JJ let out a giggle. "You are so very bad. That is why I love you."

"And I you."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Even with the French doors open onto the gardens, the heat in the ballroom was stifling. Around the edges of the dance floor, the ladies plied their fans and the gentlemen, most having shed their waistcoats, tugged at too tight collars. Emily had managed to find a spot near one of the doors, and she waited impatiently for even the slightest breeze. She could feel the sweat trickling down her back and along her ribs, and sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward that corsets were no longer considered the height of fashion.

The parquet floor gleamed golden in the light from the sconces and chandeliers. Dancers swirled and dipped through the intricacy of the five step waltz, the women's summer dresses shimmering as they moved. In the middle of the crowd, JJ, her expression beatific, smiled up at her new husband.

"What are you thinking about, Princess?" Lord Edward's sudden presence at her side actually made Emily jump. When he noticed, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You seem upset about something. You haven't been yourself since you arrived."

It was the unspoken question that had her wanting to fling herself into his arms as she had when she was a little girl. She actually opened her mouth to tell him, to possibly ask his advice, but she closed it quickly and shook her head. "It's nothing, Father." Afraid that he would read the lie in her eyes, she turned again to watch the dancers. "They look so happy."

Edward sighed, a soft exhalation barely audible over the noise in the room. "I'm sorry, Emily."

Her head snapped around, brow furrowed in confusion. "Sorry?"

"You deserve a day like this." He waved a hand about, encompassing the smiling faces surrounding them. "You deserve a man like Aaron. Not a man like David Rossi."

Strangely, Emily found herself leaping to Mr. Rossi's defense. "He's not a bad man, Father. He's good to me. I want for nothing, and he saved Devonfield."

"Still, I want you to be happy. And," he raised his hands in a shrug of sorts. "You are not."

It wasn't a question, merely a stating of fact. She didn't even bother to wonder how he knew; her father had always been able to read her. Then, over her father's shoulder, she saw Mr. Rossi lead Lady Ashley onto the dance floor. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but it seemed that he held her a little too close, that his hand rested a little too low on her waist, that he looked down at her with some soft emotion in his eyes. He looked at her the way Aaron was looking at JJ. The tears which threatened to fall earlier were back, pushing against the backs of her eyelids and tightening her throat. Air that had already been overheated became even hotter and thicker. Looking up she saw that Lord Edward's gaze had followed hers. And when he turned back to her, Emily saw sadness and love and, worst of all, pity in her father's eyes. The last was more than she could bear. With a strangled cry she barely managed to contain, Emily turned and hurried through the closest door.

In the moonlight the thick grass appeared silver, and Emily struck off across the lush expanse heading toward her favorite bench in the center of the garden. She could hear her father calling to her, but she gathered her skirts and picked up her pace until she was almost running. Behind her, the music and laughter faded to a murmur of noise. Up ahead, she thought she saw Penelope and Morgan strolling arm-in-arm along the twisting garden path. Then they were gone from sight and she was alone. Blessedly alone.

She slipped along the path, pebbles crunching under her slippers. The sounds of the night surrounded her, but tonight even the chorus of bullfrogs and crickets couldn't soothe her. She swiped at the scalding tears on her cheeks with hands that trembled. Rounding a final corner Emily, caring not a whit about getting her saffron silk dress dirty, dropped onto the wrought iron bench and buried her face in her hands.

_How did this happen to me?_ Her mind screamed out in frustration at the impossibility of her situation. Her marriage, based on what she had just seen, was obviously a sham and her life a shambles. She wanted nothing more than to be loved by a man who didn't understand the meaning of the word. He didn't want a wife, he wanted a servant. He wanted someone who would pour his tea and prepare his scone and be waiting with a kiss when he came home in the evening. He wanted someone to warm his bed in private and decorate his arm in public. She would never be his equal; he had made that perfectly clear. And she would never be happy in the role he had set out for her.

Tipping her head back, Emily stared up at the stars. Memories of being a young girl sitting on this same bench assailed her. She had often wondered about her place in the world, dreamed of contributing something more than needlework and tea parties. Even as a girl, Emily had realized being born a female in a world dominated by men was a disadvantage of biblical proportions. Still, she never imagined she would find herself in such a situation. Her dreams had been of blazing trails and breaking new ground, not of shopping and luncheons and needlework.

She heard the crunch of steps on the stones just seconds before her husband sat down on the bench beside her. Instantly, she was aware of him, just as she was any time he was near. She would know him if she were blindfolded; his smell, his heat, the very sound of his breath moving in and out of his body, she knew them all. She wondered sometimes if it was normal to be that attuned to another person. But, normal or not, she couldn't seem to do anything to change the situation.

"Do you ever look up at the sky and wonder what might be out there?" Emily wasn't sure where the question came from. It had nothing to do with the two of them or their life.

Mr. Rossi took a while to answer, but when he did his answer surprised her. "Sometimes, yes. And sometimes, like right now, I realize just how small and insignificant I am."

Her bark of laughter startled the night creatures to silence. "If you want to understand small and insignificant, try being a woman." She dropped her head, letting her eyes find his face. "Try having the most important thing you do every day be to decide if there should be venison or duck for dinner." Afraid to see the mockery she was sure in his eyes, she turned her face back to the stars.

His voice, when he spoke, was anything but mocking. "Is that how you truly see yourself?"

Dragging air into her lungs, Emily nodded. Once again, she turned her head so that she could see his face. "It's not as if you care how I see myself." She stood and paced away from him, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

She had only gone a few feet, when his hands on her shoulders stopped her. The weight of his touch held her in place. His skin was hot on her bare shoulders, and the feel of his breath on the back of her neck made her shiver. It was always like this with him, everything a contradiction; hot and cold, desire and repulsion, love and hate.

His thumbs feathered along the back of her neck, and he stepped just a tiny bit closer. "You don't understand me at all, Emily. Not at all."

"Nor you me." She returned, quietly, her voice shaking.

His chuckle was a burst of damp breath against her skin. "You are correct. However, there is one thing I do understand."

Swallowing hard, her tongue flicking over lips gone dry, Emily glanced at him over her shoulder. "What is that?"

"I understand that I want to spend the rest of my life figuring you out." He tipped his head forward and laid his forehead against her hair. "I want to know you."

Hope blossomed inside her. Small and fragile, it opened like the petals of a flower. With her heart and mind, she cradled it, willing it to grow into something solid, something real. Trembling from the force of her emotions, she whispered, "Do you?"

"How can you possibly doubt that?" He released her then and moved around to stand in front of her. Cupping her face in his hands, he stared down into her eyes.

Emily closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that once again threatened. Still, one slipped from beneath her lashes. "What about Lady Ashley? Do you want to _know_ her too?"

Silence greeted her question, and she slowly opened her eyes to see him staring at her, a puzzled expression on his face. "Lady Ashley?" He shook his head. "Why would you think that?"

Wrapping her hands around his wrists, Emily found his pulse racing just as hers was. "I saw you dancing with her."

"Ah," he skimmed a thumb over her cheek, catching her tears and flicking them away. His lips tipped up in a rueful smile. "It was a dance. That is all it was, and all it will ever be. Lady Ashley feeds my ego." Then the tenor of his voice changed, and his expression grew more serious. "But you, Emily, you feed my soul."

He kissed her then, and it was just as she had remembered, just as she had dreamed about. Sweet heat flowed through her veins, and she released his wrists to slide her arms around his waist. Then he was drawing her closer, his hands molding her body to his, his arms strong around her, and she found herself moaning into his mouth. And when he licked at her bottom lip, she never hesitated. She opened to him and drew him in.

Everything faded away; the heavy night air, the muted sounds drifting down from the ballroom, the stars overhead all disappeared. There was nothing but Mr. Rossi and the wet heat of his mouth and the desperate need pounding through her body. Surely, that would explain how neither of them heard the approaching footsteps.

"Oh!" A familiar voice exclaimed. "Oh, we are so sorry!"

Pulling her mouth from his, Emily buried her face against Mr. Rossi's chest. Her cheeks were flaming, both from arousal and embarrassment.

Mr. Rossi's hands continued to stroke along the length of her back, and his voice seemed calm when he said, "Morgan. Penelope. Lovely evening for a stroll."

Penelope's nervous giggle almost drowned out Morgan's amused, "Aye, Sir."

The heat in Emily's cheeks turned into a scorching flame when Mr. Rossi added, "Penelope, Lady Emily will not be needing your services tonight."

Emily, keeping her face steadfastly buried against his shirt, didn't see Penelope's face. But she could hear the maid's confusion.

"But, Sir." Penelope paused. "Oh…_oh! _Yes, sir! I will be available whenever… Maybe we should just…um…go. We're going now."

With a soft chuckle, he brushed his lips over her ear. "They are gone."

Just then, Emily heard Penelope's squeal of delight. "Oh God. I'm so embarrassed."

He used a finger to tip her chin up. "I'm not." Feathering his lips along her cheek, he said, "I don't care who sees us. I want everybody to know that you are my wife." His smile was soft and gentle, his eyes shining with everything in his heart. "My beautiful wife."

"Why now?" Emily pulled out of his embrace. "What is different about tonight?"

He shook his head, a bemused smile playing around his lips. "I saw you talking with your father." When she merely stared at him, he shrugged. "I saw the way he looked at you and how you looked at me. And then you ran out."

"So you followed me?"

"I followed you because I realized your tears were my fault. I realized the pity in your father's eyes was because you were married to me." He ran a hand through his collar length hair, ruffling the fine strands into disarray. "I don't want anyone to ever look at you like that again. I want them to look at you with envy because you are married to a man who adores you."

Again, he wrapped his arms around her. Her heart seemed to swell within her chest; the whole of it seeming to grow so large her body was having trouble containing it. _He loved her_. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, hear it in the tone of his voice. She took that knowledge and clutched it to her, letting it soothe the pain of the past few months.

"I want to take you to bed."

His words sent a wave of heat racing through her, settling in her belly. His hands were on her hips, tugging her against him, and she wanted to say yes. She _needed_ to say yes. But she was keenly aware of where her duties lay on this night.

"I can't." Her arms seemed to have a mind of their own as they wound around his neck. "Mother will be horrified if we disappear. I'm sure she's looking for me even now."

Tilting his head, he looked down at her. "Do you think I care what your mother thinks?" He pressed his mouth to hers to soothe the bite of his words. "I want to make love to you, Emily. And I think you want the same thing." When she began to shake her head, he said, "Tell me you don't. Say it."

With a quiet groan of frustration, she threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged his mouth down to hers. Before the kiss could become as heated as the one before, he set her away from him. Reaching out, he grasped her hand and tangled their fingers together. Anticipation bubbled through her veins as she allowed him to lead her across the lawn.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

It was just as she remembered, but more. More powerful. More tender. More heated. Emily, when she could think, wondered at his ability to carry her to such heights. Most often, she couldn't think at all.

His mouth was on her breasts, hot and wet and filled with such carnality she was helpless against it. His hands stroked along her sides, over the flat plane of her stomach, up and down the insides of her thighs. He touched her everywhere. And she burned, ached, wanted with a fierceness she had never known. When he slid his hand between her thighs and pressed his fingers inside her, she cried out, her body arching like a bow.

The quiet squelch of him bringing her pleasure was almost drowned out by her own moans of delight. His fingers moved and her body moved in counterpoint, and she could feel his grunts of approval against her flesh. Underneath her hands, the muscles of his shoulders bunched and smoothed out with every thrust of his hand, every turn of his head. Emily clung to him as he led her closer and closer to the edge of reason.

And then she was falling, flying, coming undone. The sensations exploded through her until her skin tingled and her heart pounded and her vision blurred with the sheer force of it. Breathing became secondary; everything became secondary to the pulsing of the sweet, sweet release.

Her eyes fluttered open as he moved between her thighs and pushed his body into hers. For a moment, he paused there, his body pressing hers into the mattress, and stared down into her eyes. With a gentle hand, he brushed her hair from her face. "I love you, Emily."

Sighing, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his chin, his cheek, his ear. "And I you, my husband. And I you."

Slowly, he began to move.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Sunlight streamed through the windows and slanted across the bed. Slowly, Emily's eyes fluttered open and she stretched languidly, like a kitten soaking up the warmth. The sweet ache of her muscles brought a blush to her cheeks and a smile to her lips. It was the ache of a woman who had been well and truly loved by a man, an ache she had all but forgotten over the past several months. Beside her, Mr. Rossi snored softly, and she turned on her side to watch him sleep.

He was sprawled face down with the sheet bunched around his hips. His back rose and fell with the slow, steady pace of his breathing. Snuggling farther into her pillow, Emily resisted the urge to touch him. The man was such a presence when he was awake that she was enjoying seeing him vulnerable.

Besides, he had more than earned his rest. Again, she felt her cheeks heat, but this time the heat slid along her skin, warming her to her toes. She shifted her legs in an effort to soothe the delicious pressure that was building at her center. If she still believed that enjoying sex made a woman wanton, she would have been convinced she was beyond redemption. Just the sight of his bare, sleep-warmed skin made her yearn for him.

Flashes from the night before assailed her: the kiss in the garden… the play of candlelight over his skin… being filled by him, body and soul. When he said those words, the ones she had been longing to hear, she was mere putty in his hands. There was only one dark spot.

"I can hear your brain working from over here." Husky with sleep, his words rumbled through the morning, breaking the silence.

She touched him then, her hand slipping along the length of his spine. "Good morning."

Rolling onto his side to face her, Mr. Rossi pushed the hair from his eyes. "Indeed it is," he smiled at her before taking her hand and pressing his lips to her palm. "What are you thinking about?"

Shrugging, Emily lied so as not to spoil the moment with an argument that neither of them could possibly win. "Nothing important."

"Really?" He dragged his lips over her fingertips, grinning at her quiet gasp. When she merely nodded, he added, "Are you thinking about changing the world?"

Shocked that he had come so close to her thoughts of the night before, Emily allowed herself to gape at him. Then she said, "I don't want to fight with you. Not today. Not after…"

"Then let's not fight." He twined their fingers together and spent a long moment staring down at them. "I've been an ass, Emily. And I'm sorry."

Unsure of what his apology meant, she simply watched him, trying to read his eyes.

Finally, he continued in a voice choked with emotion, "I thought I wanted a woman who would be content to care for my home and my needs. A woman who would put me first." Now he pressed her hand over his heart. "Then I met you. And no other woman would do."

Snorting out a laugh, Emily replied, "You didn't like me."

"Ah, but I did." Under her hand, his heart sped up. "I found you appealing on _every_ level. But I made the mistake of trying to change you, to make you into what I wanted you to be." His lips tipped up in a sad grin. "I don't like the docile version of you nearly as much as the original."

Joy, untamed and unbridled, unfolded inside her. "Really?" She could hardly contain the smile that tugged at her lips. "And what does that mean exactly?"

He laughed then. Not the derisive laughter she had heard from him those months past. This was a sound of true happiness. "It means, my stubborn beauty, that my newspaper will have a new employee."

With a triumphant cry, Emily pushed Mr. Rossi onto his back and flung herself on top of him. "You are the most magnificent man alive! Thank you!" she cried out as she peppered his face with quick kisses.

Wrapping his arms around her, he flipped them over and settled between her thighs. "Magnificent? Maybe. Fortunate? Very."

Then his lips were on hers, and for a long time, the world ceased to exist.

Later, much later, when she was nestled along his side and their breathing had slowed enough to allow them to speak, Emily said, "What made you change your mind?"

Mr. Rossi ran a finger up and down the length of her arm. "I missed you. And nothing, not my pride nor my fortune, nor my very life was more important than finding my way back into the arms of the woman I love."


End file.
